


The Making of a Hero

by DinoDina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:56:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9532415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinoDina/pseuds/DinoDina
Summary: Regulus wakes up one day with telekinesis.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written on 07-29-16. Cross-posted on ffn.

Barty always woke before Regulus did, and Thursday, April 30, was no exception. As he pattered about the flat, Regulus slept on in their large bed, buried under two quilts against the early spring chill. His hair was splayed out on the pillow, one lock almost in his mouth, and one of his hands was brushing the floor.

He dreamt, at the moment, of a large waterfall. Bright birds flew in and out of the fierce current, the sun merrily shone down upon a picnic, and a pan was flying right towards him.

With that rather alarming realization, Regulus awoke, only to be hit in the face by said pan. Luckily for his nose, it wasn't an overly heavy pan. But the fact that it was flying and that Barty was nowhere in sight served to alarm him.

With no warning, a pot followed the pan into the bedroom. It was a large, red thing that they often cooked pasta in, and, thankfully for Regulus, it bypassed his face and smashed into the headboard.

"Barty?" he called out hesitantly, because there had been no person behind the flying cookware, at least none that he'd seen. He dodged a plate and raised his voice, "Barty?"

"Just a minute!" his boyfriend yelled from somewhere, his voice uncharacteristically high-pitched.

Several of the throw pillows from their living room couch flew into the room. They landed on the floor next to the broken plate. "What in the…"

But Regulus could not continue this train of thought, as the entire contents of their cutlery drawer barged in through the door, leaving him to burrow under the quilts and hoping that the industrial-strength stitching—courtesy of his brother's boyfriend—would protect him.

By the time Barty managed to run into the room, the crockery was flying in circles over the bed. Only when it dropped onto the lump under the covers—and the lump gave a decidedly unmanly yelp—did Barty notice where Regulus was.

"Are you"—bending down to dodge a pair of shoes—"alright?"

Regulus left the safety of the quilts to give Barty a dirty look. "I've got umbrellas flying at me!"

When an umbrella did indeed collide with his chest, Regulus covered his head again and attempted to condense himself into a smaller shape. When a book collided with Barty's back, he considered joining him.

"Make it stop, Barty," Regulus's muffled voice reached his ears.

The thirty-two pieces of their chess set flew into the back of Barty's head, hitting it one by one.

He nodded. "I will."

There were no small objects left in the living room when Barty entered. They were all either on their way into the bedroom or already there, and even the couch was twitching as if trying to join them.

Barty walked over to their landline. It had managed to stay on the wall, even if the phone itself was swinging on the wire. He picked it up and dialed Sirius's number, reading off the notes on the wall.

_You've reached Sirius Black. I'm either saving the world or rocking Remus's world. Please leave a message._

Barty sighed and hung up the phone.

Calling Sirius, since he was Regulus's brother, had been the obvious move. Now, it seemed that they were on their own. Barty hung his head; he couldn't do anything, no matter what he had promised. He didn't have powers, being two years younger than Regulus, nor did he have any experience in calming people down and caring for them.

How had it come down to him?

_Regulus, eighteen and a half years old; Regulus, declared a Squib when he hadn't come into his powers when he'd turned seventeen; Regulus, disowned and showing up at Barty's door with singed hair and nothing but the clothes on his back; Regulus, telekinetic and scared out of his mind._

Regulus was relying on him.

Truth be told, Barty knew almost nothing about superpowers.

_Regulus's mother could throw fire, his brother could change the weather, his father could teleport—his mother had almost killed him the last time they saw each other, he was only beginning to fix his tentative relationship with his brother, and he_ never _mentioned his father._

_Anyone could have superpowers, and they manifested themselves when a person turned seventeen. People with powers could be born into normal families, but the opposite rarely happened._

But even Barty, with his almost nonexistent knowledge, was aware that when a person was a Squib, their situation couldn't change.

It seemed that Regulus was more special than he could have ever imagined.

"Regulus?" Barty said softly, walking into the mess that was their bedroom. He dodged the objects around the bed and moved closer.

"Go 'way," Regulus yelled from his quilts. "Please," quieter now, "I don't want to hurt you."

"Please come out," Barty sat down next to a broken clock. "I don't have to leave you—I _won't_."

Regulus peeked over the top of the quilts. "Promise?"

Barty barely heard the question. But when he had, he rested a hand on Regulus's shoulder. "I

promise."

He managed to get Regulus to come out of the covers after that. He looked terrified. Wide, red-rimmed eyes stood out against his pale skin, and there was a livid bruise on his nose, as well as noticeable swelling.

"Can I convince you to join me in the living room?" Barty asked. "You don't have to leave if you don't want to, but a change of scenery might do you good. Also, I think that those are broken eggs; right there on the corner of the bed."

"What if that makes it worse?" Regulus wondered in a small voice. "What if I screw up the living room? Or what if this affects our neighbors? I can't risk that, Barty… I can't hurt people."

"You won't."

Regulus may have come from a family of Villains, but his brother was a Hero. And if there was one thing Barty was sure of, it was that Regulus didn't have an evil bone in his body.

Regulus gave him a watery smile. A map of the French countryside—where they'd gone seven months ago—half-heartedly fluttered in through the door and sank to the ground as if its impromptu journey around the flat had not even happened.

Barty's shoes, which had been spinning around with Regulus's below the ceiling fan, unceremoniously dropped onto the bed. Around them, the floating knick-knacks and clothes fell onto the cluttered floor.

"Where are _your_ shoes?" he asked Regulus.

Regulus looked up. Then he laughed. "On the ceiling fan."

It seemed that, since the storm of paraphernalia had stopped, their biggest worry for the moment would be tidying. And in doing so, Barty hoped to bring some peace to Regulus as well, as he would always strive to do.


End file.
